Grief is such a profoundly human experience. I don't think any other emotion reminds me so much that I am human and when we lose people we love it turns us inside out for a while.
Sending lots of compassion and gentleness your way.
Marika, this is beautiful, vulnerable and deeply relatable: grief does feel like moving through molasses. Your reflection on the emotional “in between” is both grounding and powerful. Thank you for writing through the fog and inviting us to sit with you in it!
Beautiful wise thoughts my friend. You are doing it as you know: all you can do is stay awake. And when you can’t, you can’t. ❤️❤️❤️thanks for bringing us with you!!
Grief rearranging us is a perfect image for this process.
I’m so sorry for your enormous loss.
In times of intense grief, I have frequently wondered how the world could go on acting ‘normal’ when mine had whirled to a sudden stop against a brick wall.
Marika, I am so sorry for both of your loses, neither of which I knew about at the time. Your reflections made me think about the loses in my own life. I believe what you’ve expressed is so honest and heartfelt at a time when it is still difficult to express it in your writing.
May the memories of your baby and your Dad be a blessing.
Thank you for this. I lost my dad to Alzheimer's in April of 2024, and some days the grief still knocks me over. I watched him fade for years, but it's only now that I find myself grieving the dad that I lost, the man he was. Writing's been my salvation.
Thank you for sharing this Marika. Your piece makes me think about the different ways that we experience the in-between. Sometimes we're just waiting between jobs, between homes, between stages of life for something to happen. And then there's the kind of in-between you describe here, the muddy, often dark, "I have no idea what's going on and my emotions are really difficult" kind. I have hard time hanging in there with this kind of in-between. I can be with it in moments, but I have to dip in and step out because I can't handle the intensity. Whether we're able to capture and write about our experiences while we're in this place, or whether we do it after we've gotten some distance, this kind of in-between does seem to provide a lot of material (material we may not want). I appreciate your willingness to share from this space. Thank you.
Thanks for reading and sharing your wisdom, Emily. You’re right about the two in between times, for sure.
What I’ve been wondering about lately is how to drop the resistance when the in between time is “murky”. To just let it be. I find I’m more easily able to access inner resources and tune into what I really need when I practice acceptance and allowing. (But it can be a rough practice, for sure!!)
This is such a fascinating metaphor. We usually think of weighted blankets as being “comforting.” Could grief be a comfort? In what ways? Thank you for sharing this!
Thank you so much for sharing what it’s like for you to live with grief. It brings me back to Grace with myself. Even though it’s been over two years since my son died, grief still holds me, affects me immensely, as it will forever, even as it changes. My heart goes out to you as you mourn. As you live. As you find your way through this in-between time.
Thank you so much for your kind thoughts, Barb. To continue the moving metaphor, it takes weeks to unpack, months to figure out your new routines, but years until you feel like a new city is really your “home”…
Thank you Jen, you have found words for the brutal agony of grief which I have lived in the past year. I’m still ploughing through the molasses. I still can’t write or read. I don’t even know who I am? My mind is scattered like snooker balls at the start of a game. Only I can’t get them back in the right pockets. I wonder, at 73, will there be time to live again?
Oh Elaine. This question is so human. This time of grieving feels like it will stretch on forever, overwhelm us completely. We're so fragmented, we wonder how the pieces will ever fall back together again. And... aren't we alive now? Can't this hazy, floating, time-out-of-time count as "living," too?
There are so many physical symptoms, including exhaustion, that are part of grief, for all those reasons you've shared. All our points of reference have been put in a mixer and scrambled. I was on autopilot for a long time because we had to jump from Dad's passing to the funeral to Mum's treatment. Megan Devine's book and videos were comforting and on-point for me, and a LOT of journalling out feelings for release. I appreciate you sharing all this with us. xo
I think I’m going to start collecting grief metaphors, Victoria. That mixer one is brilliant. Jumping from thing to thing is definitely a part of this grieving experience, as opposed to the last one, when I’d cleared so much time and space for a new baby and then there was nothing but… time and space. Hard in a different way!
Grief is such a profoundly human experience. I don't think any other emotion reminds me so much that I am human and when we lose people we love it turns us inside out for a while.
Sending lots of compassion and gentleness your way.
Thank you, Judy! It’s the definition of this human experience in so many ways and really has me thinking!
Marika, this is beautiful, vulnerable and deeply relatable: grief does feel like moving through molasses. Your reflection on the emotional “in between” is both grounding and powerful. Thank you for writing through the fog and inviting us to sit with you in it!
Thank you, Mahi. 🙏
Beautiful wise thoughts my friend. You are doing it as you know: all you can do is stay awake. And when you can’t, you can’t. ❤️❤️❤️thanks for bringing us with you!!
When you can't, you can't... That's the kind of grace we can all use.
Grief rearranging us is a perfect image for this process.
I’m so sorry for your enormous loss.
In times of intense grief, I have frequently wondered how the world could go on acting ‘normal’ when mine had whirled to a sudden stop against a brick wall.
Ooh that feels like a familiar feeling… thanks for this comment.
Marika, I am so sorry for both of your loses, neither of which I knew about at the time. Your reflections made me think about the loses in my own life. I believe what you’ve expressed is so honest and heartfelt at a time when it is still difficult to express it in your writing.
May the memories of your baby and your Dad be a blessing.
Thank you, Janie! Trying to explore and be okay with the fragmentation and uncertainty of it all… ❤️
Thank you for this. I lost my dad to Alzheimer's in April of 2024, and some days the grief still knocks me over. I watched him fade for years, but it's only now that I find myself grieving the dad that I lost, the man he was. Writing's been my salvation.
It’s such a long process. Having gone through it once before, I’m bracing myself, resisting, my inner toddler screaming Nooooo! Lol.
But, like you wisely pointed out, there can be gold to be mined, discoveries that I’ll treasure…
Thank you for sharing this Marika. Your piece makes me think about the different ways that we experience the in-between. Sometimes we're just waiting between jobs, between homes, between stages of life for something to happen. And then there's the kind of in-between you describe here, the muddy, often dark, "I have no idea what's going on and my emotions are really difficult" kind. I have hard time hanging in there with this kind of in-between. I can be with it in moments, but I have to dip in and step out because I can't handle the intensity. Whether we're able to capture and write about our experiences while we're in this place, or whether we do it after we've gotten some distance, this kind of in-between does seem to provide a lot of material (material we may not want). I appreciate your willingness to share from this space. Thank you.
Thanks for reading and sharing your wisdom, Emily. You’re right about the two in between times, for sure.
What I’ve been wondering about lately is how to drop the resistance when the in between time is “murky”. To just let it be. I find I’m more easily able to access inner resources and tune into what I really need when I practice acceptance and allowing. (But it can be a rough practice, for sure!!)
I agree! Acceptance and allowing. And yes, lots of practice.
Grief is a weighted blanket.
This is such a fascinating metaphor. We usually think of weighted blankets as being “comforting.” Could grief be a comfort? In what ways? Thank you for sharing this!
Thank you so much for sharing what it’s like for you to live with grief. It brings me back to Grace with myself. Even though it’s been over two years since my son died, grief still holds me, affects me immensely, as it will forever, even as it changes. My heart goes out to you as you mourn. As you live. As you find your way through this in-between time.
Thank you so much for your kind thoughts, Barb. To continue the moving metaphor, it takes weeks to unpack, months to figure out your new routines, but years until you feel like a new city is really your “home”…
Thank you Jen, you have found words for the brutal agony of grief which I have lived in the past year. I’m still ploughing through the molasses. I still can’t write or read. I don’t even know who I am? My mind is scattered like snooker balls at the start of a game. Only I can’t get them back in the right pockets. I wonder, at 73, will there be time to live again?
Oh Elaine. This question is so human. This time of grieving feels like it will stretch on forever, overwhelm us completely. We're so fragmented, we wonder how the pieces will ever fall back together again. And... aren't we alive now? Can't this hazy, floating, time-out-of-time count as "living," too?
Such a good point, Marika. This too is living.
Marika, I’m not so sure. Ours something to think about. Thanks, I will reflect on that question.
Hugs, Marika.
There are so many physical symptoms, including exhaustion, that are part of grief, for all those reasons you've shared. All our points of reference have been put in a mixer and scrambled. I was on autopilot for a long time because we had to jump from Dad's passing to the funeral to Mum's treatment. Megan Devine's book and videos were comforting and on-point for me, and a LOT of journalling out feelings for release. I appreciate you sharing all this with us. xo
I think I’m going to start collecting grief metaphors, Victoria. That mixer one is brilliant. Jumping from thing to thing is definitely a part of this grieving experience, as opposed to the last one, when I’d cleared so much time and space for a new baby and then there was nothing but… time and space. Hard in a different way!
Thanks, Marika. I think everyone develops metaphors to help themselves...I've so many!
Thank you, Marika, for your vulnerable reflections on this tender time of living in the in-between. ❤️